


The Queen has Fallen

by treetracer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Illness, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treetracer/pseuds/treetracer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doctor’s letter of recommendation had explained it all to him in cold, detached, scientific wording strewn across fine parchment paper. It stated, in brilliant penmanship, that she, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, was to be honorably discharged by the command of Fuhrer Grumman for medical ailments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen has Fallen

It had started out normally. It was a basic check in with the therapist that was part of an annual physical. Nothing new. Nothing different. Yet, a week later she was back in the examiner’s office. He was staring down at a his clipboard with concern, sitting at his desk, when she walked in. Her heart, in an instant, was in her throat but she opened her mouth to speak, “Sir?”

“Please, Riza, no need for formalities. You’re in the company of a friend,” he said and motioned for her to sit. Riza stepped forward to rest in the blue leather chair that sat before his pristine wooden desk.

“I apologize, Victor. It’s habit,” she said and looked up to him with her hands folded tightly in her lap. He smiled kindly, sadly, and Hawkeye felt her heart move from her throat to her feet.

“It’s quite fine,” he said and sat his clipboard to the side and looked up to her. “I want to apologize, first and foremost, if I seem a bit coarse. I’m not sure how to give you this news. It’s not very often that I’m in this position. Riza, your blood tests proved to be unusual so we reviewed your file again. While I’ll need to do a few more exams I feel confident in my diagnosis. I’m sorry,” he said and the apology scared her more than anything. “ It’s cancer and, from what the nurse surmises from your breast exam that’s the area that has been affected,” the words fell from his mouth like a poison.

Her heart stopped and her mind went blank.

“As I said before, we’ll have to perform a few more test to make sure but I firmly believe that’s what it is,” he said and stood up from where he sat, with an envelope in hand, he walked over to her and handed it to her. “You have a week left here, unfortunately, Riza. I’ll resume your care and treatment outside of the military. Veteran benefits pay well and you’ll be treated promptly,” he said and Riza couldn’t take her eyes off the crisp white envelope that held her discharge papers.

“I… I can’t ret-” she started but he cut her off.

“I’m sorry Riza but this is our standard procedure. You know that. Please… don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” he said. Riza did know that it was the military’s standard procedure to discharge a service member when cancer was detected. That didn’t make the news any less painful or any less frightening.

A lump formed in her throat and she looked back up to Victor. “I understand,” she said and she knew that he could hear the tears thick in her voice.

“I want to see you back here after lunch. We’re going to start the tests today,” he said and Riza left the office, the envelope clutched tightly in her hand.

* * *

She was sick and horribly so and the smells of the hospital did nothing to help her. She hated it here more than anything but she had no one at home to keep an eye on her so, at the request of Victor and Dr. Marcoh, she’d agreed to stay. The small and private little room wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. It was dressed up much like a home should be, though it was still distinctly sterile and she hated it. She missed home, she missed Black Hayate, and she missed work.

Riza eased herself back onto her pillow with a sigh and looked up to the ceiling. It was nearly noon and, while she was limited on where she could go, she knew she should consider eating something. Even though the idea made her nausea worse. That was the only thing about these treatments. Dr. Marcoh was good at what he did but medical Alchemy, even as skilled as he was with it, was difficult to use against invasive illnesses like hers. Cancer cells were still living tissue and finding and pinpointing them with even the most precise Alchemy was difficult. It often removed healthy tissue. All of it was painful though. No amount of medication made it feel better. She was constantly tender, sore, and sick to her stomach because the painkillers were as harsh on her system as her treatments were.

She refused to give up though. She refused to show weakness. First lieutenant may no longer have been her rank but that didn’t matter to her. She, Riza Hawkeye, would remain steadfast and strong in the face of adversity… no matter the how scared she was.

Riza placed an arm over her eyes and exhaled heavily past the knot of tears in her throat. Who was she kidding? She was scared, scared out of her mind. Alchemy worked but it was a long and painful process, it took months to well over a year depending on how fast the cancer moved. Word had come back from Mai and Alphonse and that they were on their way but it would be another two months before they’d be here. Two long months of Alchemy treatment and isolation. She’d not told a soul other than those who knew out of necessity. The last one to know was Mustang and even now she wasn’t sure he knew. Her discharge papers had only just been turned into today. She’d left them on his desk along with his morning coffee and had dismissed herself quietly.

The doctor’s letter of recommendation had explained it all to him in cold, detached, scientific wording strewn across fine parchment paper. It stated, in brilliant penmanship, that she, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, was to be honorably discharged by the command of Fuhrer Grumman for medical ailments.

Riza knew the message was impersonal and vague but, of all things, she couldn’t find the courage to tell him. She’d faced death and destruction, war and fruitless battles, but she’d still found herself unable to tell him that she was sick. She was a coward and she knew it but it was too late now. Selfishly she wondered if he’d visit. She hoped that he would but prayed that he wouldn’t.

Lying in bed, sick to her stomach, frail and weak, and _diseased_  was not how she wanted him to find her. She hoped he’d stay in his office, at the most send her a card, and when she was better she could come and visit him. She could ask for a civilian contracted job so she could still work alongside him. Something. Anything.

She choked on a sob and sighed heavily. Her tears wet the bare skin of her forearm and she felt like a miserable whelp of a creature. Nausea pulled at her stomach and she inhaled deeply and slowly, to try and breathe through it but it didn’t help. As quickly as she could find her feet she stood and stumbled to the bathroom.

Riza knelt before the porcelain throne and offered up a pitiful sacrifice because she had nothing to give. Bile and water filled the bowl and nothing more. She hadn’t eaten since the morning and shortly thereafter her stomach had given it up. After she’d expelled what little she had to give she sat back and rested her head on the open door of the small bathroom.

The floor was cool against her half exposed legs and the position she found herself in temporarily eased the nausea. Her hands were folded in her lap, head craned back slightly, mouth partly ajar, because breathing like that felt good and soothed the uneasiness of her insides. Her messy golden hair spilled over her shoulders and, like this, she rested for a while.

Sleep tempted her and she relented.

* * *

Her stomach rolled powerfully and tore her from sleep. The nightmare that had seized her subconsciousness fled, but not before it stained her thoughts with blood and stabbed a hot poker in her gut. Riza bent over the cold porcelain of the toilet, gripped the cool white rim fiercely, and heaved. Her back arched, stomach twisted, and body strained but for all the strength and effort her weak physique poured into the endeavor there was nothing. There was always nothing.

Exhausted and slightly sweaty she took a moment to gather herself before she made any attempt to stand. “I just want to sleep,” she whispered to the godless throne she tightly gripped. Carefully she eased herself to her knees and, despite the numb sensation in her right leg, she continued. ‘It’s just asleep. I’ll be able to make it to the bed,’ she thought as she shifted herself forward and pulled her left foot under her. Her actions distantly reminded her of a child. One who understood walking but was just learning the technique of standing up on their own. She smiled but it was laced with bitterness and self loathing.

She hated this. She hated that everything made her sick, made her ache, made her hurt. It was an effort to move, to speak, to breathe, to rest, to do anything. This illness was killing her, slowly, but so was the treatment.

“I want to go home,” she said as she gingerly placed weight on her left foot and stood. Her right leg was numb and she turned to hobble from the bathroom just as the door to her room creaked open. Riza didn’t bother to look up, she assumed it was a nurse, and continued to move as carefully as she could to her bed. Her right leg was unreliable but it held her if she concentrated on it. It was difficult though since she thought just as equally hard about not upsetting the time bomb that was her stomach.

“Hawkeye?” his voice stopped her and, without hesitation, she stood upright at attention for her commanding officer. Her right leg didn’t agree with her, nor did her stomach or the rush of blood that flooded her head and made her dizzy. She faltered and allowed her knees to give out so she could rest on all fours and sate the heaving beast deep within her gut.

Riza heard him cross the room quickly but she held out a hand to stop him. She knelt on all fours there, with Roy hovering over her, as she took deep breaths to try and abate the churning of her insides. It didn’t help. Her gut began the ritual of fruitless sacrifice. It made her hurt more and she choked back a sudden wave of exhausted emotion.

“Excuse me,” she managed after she’d caught her breath. Her words were thick with the tears she held at bay. It was uncharacteristic of her to show her emotions in front of someone who was her superior.

_Was._

It hit her like a blow to the chest and she choked. How had it not hit her yet? Why was this reality dawning on her now? Why? Why couldn’t she have had this epiphany alone in the depth of the night where she could have wept silently and shamelessly? Instead it had happened now. In front of her former commanding officer who had knelt beside her on the cold, sterile, tile floor of the hospital with a hand on her shoulder.

“Riza,” his voice was soothing but the use of her first name was jarring and she resisted the powerful urge to look up at him. She knew that if she did she’d cry, she’d weep, and it would be ugly and uncomfortable and painful. “Let me help you,” the gentle tone of his voice tightened the knot that had formed in her throat and she began to suffocate on it.

“Don’t…” she said, voice hushed and thick as she spoke, “Please…” Roy lifted his hand from her shoulder and she felt heavier somehow with the absence of his touch. His hand was at her elbow a moment later and he gently tugged her up a bit and she complied. Her body felt like lead but she refused to be helpless. She refused to be weak in front of Roy Mustang. Yet she continued to drown on her unshed tears as he helped her.

It took more effort than she was willing to admit to in order to stand but she stood with his help. Sweat dampened her brow and she was forced to closed her eyes against the nausea and the unusual slant the room had taken. Roy cautiously urged her forward but she didn’t move. The fact that she was standing was a miracle and she knew that if she so much as tilted forward she’d lose her legs.

If she wouldn’t move. He’d move her.

With all the grace and strength of a king he lifted her from the floor. She didn’t resist him or protest his actions because she knew that she was incapable. Her own two feet were not able to hold her up so she allowed him to help her. Who was she to deny him?

Riza placed a hand over her eyes, rolled her head back, and felt the knot in her throat begin to unwind against her will. Hot, angry, and frightened tears streamed down the sides of her face and rolled back into her hairline. Roy shifted his arm and it forced her to support her head. She rested against him and quietly sobbed as he carried her to her bed.

He sat down and cradled her against him, held her tight, and allowed her cry. Her chest hurt, but it was different from her Alchemy treatments. She clutched at him, gripped his wool-knit sweater like her life depended on it and wept. It was a deep, exhaustive, and primitive mourning that washed over her like a powerful wave. It pulled her under until her she was lost to the current and it drowned her. She strayed from the world and forgot about everything around her until her crying subsided and she became aware of Roy’s strong presence.

“I’m so scared,” she managed to choke and she felt his arms tighten around her. “I’m so sick… and tired and I hurt all the time… and I’m sorry…” she exhaled and slumped against the strength of his chest and closed her red, sore, eyes.

“The queen should never apologize to her king,” he said and she felt his voice as much as she heard it. Riza wished she could exist like this forever. Here in his arms her pains seemed to melt away, and her scenes were overcome with his warmth and distinct masculine scent. He held her together. With each moment that passed, each breath he pulled in, and each beat of his heart Riza felt herself calming. He was her king. They had been through hell and back and this, she knew, would be no different.

Roy shifted, moved his arm a bit, and gently, carefully, ran his gloveless hand through her hair. Riza sighed heavily and tilted her head back to look up at him through bleary eyes. His attentions made her sleepy and eased what she felt of her illness, though her stomach still tentatively let her know that it remained displeased with her. Still, as her mind and body reluctantly gave into peace, she thought of little else but him.

**Author's Note:**

> My second fanfiction and I’m still powering through and writer’s block but I’m making headway. In general this bit of fanfiction was hard to write if only because the characters are a bit tougher and I’m not familiar enough with them. I apologize for any out of character like behavior. Still, I tried so I hope there isn’t too much hate for that. I know that, generally, Riza is a tough woman but she’s also had her moments of weakness and I tried to play off of that. Roy has experienced the same trails as well. 
> 
> While I generally pull from experience in regards to most of what I write I wasn’t able to do that this time. If anything, I’d be more on the side with Roy because I have been in the position where I helped a friend and family members through their frightening illness.
> 
> I also opted to pick this particular subject matter because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to write anything between Roy and Riza and it not be illegal because of their ranks. As a the daughter of a soldier I know the importance of the rules put in place for superior officers and the men and women under their command. Thus the reason Roy is not dressed in his uniform and he freely touches her as he does.
> 
> TL;DR: Personal subject matter. Rules. Reasons.


End file.
